Have you ever noticed that you don’t really have any idea what it is that your friends do at work every day?

No, really. Think about it. Go through your list of friends in your head and then one by one think of what they do for a job.

What have you got? I’ve got a list of teachers, a disability support worker, a couple in advertising, an editor, a filmmaker, a couple of designers and a shoemaker. Now, I have a general idea of what most of these jobs entail but I have NO IDEA what they mean on a day to day basis. Lets have a look at an example.

I can’t really picture what my friend the magazine editor does during his day. Like, does he have an office or just a desk? Is he surrounded by people in grey cubicles with pictures of kids pinned to the dividers or is it uber cool like the slicked up glam of “Ugly Betty”? What sort of a reputation does he have with his work peeps? Is he a hard ass boss or is he quiet and approachable? What do editors do anyway? Is it a lot of typing or a lot of reading? When you’re having a stressful day as an editor what does that mean? What goes wrong?

No idea.

It’s like they’re living these whole other secret lives. They get to be this whole other person for 40 hours a week and I have no idea who that person is.

People from Canberra are even worse with this. Canberra is the land of public servants, and when you ask Canberrans what their friends do for a living they just shrug and say ‘they’re in the public service’ (or sometimes they say ‘they’re in the public service. And Kel’s a fireman’). But when you press Canberrans for more details like what department do they work in, what role do they have, where does their skill set lie you just get a big ol’ blank stare like it’s the first time they’ve encountered the idea that ‘public service’ doesn’t actually mean anything on its own.

They don’t have a clue.

What is my point? I don’t really have one. I just think it’s interesting that on the one hand we have our friends and our family who presumably know us better than any other people in the world, and then on the other hand we have our jobs that we spend more time doing than anything else in the world.

But our friends don’t know what we do at work. Like anarchic hand syndrome, the two hands are not privy to each other.

Anarchic hand. Creepy.

Basically what this translates to is that our friends don’t know who we are, what we are doing and who we hang out with amajorityof the time, yet we consider them to know us the best.

I think that’s weird. That’s all.

But anyway, now you’ve been let in on what I do during my secret work life. I wrote this post.

So I was driving my poor old car the other day, and it starting making pretty weird noises like this:

*BANG!* brrm, brrm, brrm *BANG!*

brrm *BANG!* brrm, brrm, brrm *faaark!* *BANG!*

Ok, the last bit was me, not the car, but you get the idea. Basically it was really disconcerting, especially since it was about 10.30 at night and with every loud *BANG* there was an accompanying jolt to the undercarriage of the car – kind of like when you accidentally run over the yellow concrete pile-ons when pulling into parking spaces.

like you’ve never done that.

Anyway, all the banging and the jolting and the loss of steering wound the poor, long suffering vehicle into the mechanic shop. Two days later he called me with the news:

“it’s dead”.

Well, what he actually said was something gear box, blah, blah, difsomething or other, blah blah, $1,000, but what he really meant was,

it’s dead.

It is a sad day. Piece of shit that it is, it was my piece of shit, and for the last five years it has gritted it’s teeth through it’s peeling paint, bungy cord, leaking door seals, balding tires and my refusal to ever wash it, and driven me anywhere and everywhere, I asked it to every, single time I wanted it to.

I have driven it into the ground, which I always said I would do, and which, in my opinion, is the best way for a car to go. That little car has much to be proud of. So rest in piece(s) little car, you were a good friend and will not be forgotten.

so – anyone know where I can get me a sweet new thang that looks more like this?*

In light of the cinema shooting in Colorado over the weekend, I’m finding it difficult to think of a single reason why anyone should be able to walk into a store and buy 6000 rounds of ammunition. As a Brazillian friend of mine quipped,

‘Wow. America’s gun laws are really working out for them’.

Subsequently, I’ve been reading arguments all over Facebook between my American friends to see why in the hell they don’t smarten up.

Turns out they make this issue really complicated. People against gun control create complex arguments about their constitutional rights, twisting the meaning of what ‘the right to bear arms’ actually meant in the first place. They talk about not letting the ‘psychopaths’ of the world ruin the freedom to enjoy guns that the rest of the population have a right to.

Wait. Let’s just stop there for a second.

The freedom to enjoy guns.

Dude, if you enjoy shooting so much that it would ruin your life to not have a gun in the house, then really, who’s calling who a psychopath?

Anyway, what was I saying? Ah yes, the arguments. The one that annoys me the most is the argument that insists that the problem is not ‘guns’ it is ‘society’ and that society needs to take a good hard look at itself and it’s values. Society has gone awry and needs healing. This argument is annoying because of course, I absolutely agree. Of course it does. Of course this is a society problem. of course, of course, of course. But kids, surely it is obvious that if this fucked up society you speak of didn’t have access to 6000 rounds of ammunition, then you’d have less dead bodies lining the streets on your long walk back to Utopia.

People don’t need guns.

I actually have a further hypothesis. If you took away the guns, then spent 50 years dealing with society’s deeper issues, and then gave the people the right to have their guns back, the thing is, they’re not gonna want them anymore.

Why would a healthy, confident, secure society want to have guns in the house? That’s the whole point really. It’s not a question of whether there’s a ‘gun problem’ or whether it’s a ‘society problem’ because it’s the same thing. Being completely nuts about being able to have the right to own a gun is entirely symptomatic of this sick society you’re blaming the massacres on.

I am reading an abnormal psychology textbook at the moment and if I were to diagnose American society I’d give it Generalised Anxiety Disorder. Evidenced by its citizens constant worry that something bad is going to happen, the paranoia, the feeling that they have no control over their own environment, the idea that they are never safe enough from imminent harm. They have guns to control their symptoms of the disorder.

Get rid of society’s anxiety and you’ll also rid it of it’s obsession with firearms. So lets just shortcut and take away the guns first.

Today we are going to do something radical. We are going to cultivate gratitude! Yes that’s right, I have taken it upon myself to sign us all up for a crash course in dealing with winter blues in a healthy way. Presently the way I deal with winter blues involves finding things, anything at all really, to up and feel sorry for myself about. It’s a game and it’s called, ‘How many things are crap today?’ I can come up with loads of things on the spot. I am a champion of this game! How about, I’m 32 and I still have to live with roommates!! Yes, that sux! How about, all the places to live in Sydney are small, dingy and cost a fortune! Yes, that sux too! How about, my car is total bullshit and the front of it is held on by a bungy cord! Hahaha – you loser! How about, I’ve been studying for four straight years and I still have about a million more to go and it’s all my fault for waiting so long to start! Yesssiree Bob, that’s a humdinger! And then on and on until we filter in all the problems with the environment, women’s rights, poverty, inequality, discrimination and TONY ABBOTT and, well, shit – it’s hard to get out of bed.

SO. They say that one of the ways to ward off depression is to cultivate gratitude. To be mindful – consciously, purposefully, about the things in our lives that we have to be thankful for. All the little things that we take for granted. They say that this presence of mind about positive things, will help to form a seal of protection around the part of you that wants to fill it up with negative shit.

Well, that’s the way I see it anyway.

This makes sense to me because I’ve been thinking about all this ‘taking it for granted’ biz and I think that the problem stems from human’s having too good of an ability to adapt.

See, human beings are a hugely successful species based largely on their uncanny ability to adapt to their circumstances. When the shit hits the fan we adjust our way of life to the new set of circumstances and get on with things accordingly. Without this quality we would not have survived the first ice age, or, say, highschool. We adapt or die. We’re very good at it.

The problem is, that our ability to adapt does not discern good circumstances from bad ones. This means that we adapt to the good things that happen to us too. We adjust quickly, taking on board the new set of circumstances as though they were always that way. It becomes routine. And so what happens is….

We end up taking it all for granted.

It’s our natural way to be. So in order to stay happy we (read: me) really need to consciously make an effort to remember that the little good things are not a given, they are not for free and they are not obliged to stick around forever, especially if they’re being ignored.

So let’s see if it works. Here is my list of 10 things that are not crap:

I am thankful that I get to live in a house that is warm and dry and safe. I am grateful to live with two very nice people who are supportive and kind and caring. They also keep all the common areas clean and tidy and take the garbage out without being asked. I am thankful that they give me emergency cigarettes if I have a shitty day.

I am grateful to have a car that works. I am also grateful that it is really small which means I can park it anywhere including places that aren’t really parking spots and are more like ‘no stopping zones’ and ‘do not park here’ places. Sometimes I just stop the car wherever I am and get out and because it’s small, it’s pretty much good enough.

I am extremely grateful that I have enough money to be able to buy a nice coffee everyday. I can also sit down and luxuriously sip coffee and have eggs with feta and chorizo and I do this all the time like it ain’t no thing. Really, this is a total freakin luxury.

I am grateful to live in a country where I can go to school without having to pay for it up front. This means I am free to study to my heart’s content and I don’t have to pay it back unless I make enough money to be able to do so.

I am grateful to live in a city where it is only cold for 8 weeks of the year.

I am thankful that I have a job. I can pay my bills without being terrified to open them. And not only do I have a job but I was actually able to change careers from a soul sucking corporate gig to something that I believe in. This is something that I never thought possible and yet now I take it for granted.

I am thankful that I have friends and family who are all healthy and happy and caring.

I am grateful that I have a bedspread that I really like.

I am grateful to have gas heating which is super cosy.

I am grateful for all the things I have been allowed in this life so far. The people I have met, the experiences I have had, the freedom to explore and pursue the avenues I wished to take. This is an extraordinarily lucky life I have been born into.

I am going to try to be grateful for at least one thing per day. Aside from it helping me to be happy, I also have a sneaking suspicion it will help to prevent burnout on the job as well. I figure if I can live life with more gratitude it will help dispel the anger and hopelessness I feel when faced with all that is wrong with the world. Ie: Being grateful for what I do have, will allow me the strength and energy to be able to help those that don’t.

And if that’s not reason enough to give it a go, I don’t know what is.

Well, that’s what I’ve been saying to myself everyday for about the last 6 weeks. No dice. Perhaps today will be the day. But then again, probably not. It’s raining and it’s still winter. And remember how I generally boycott winter? Yeah well it’s hard to exercise when you’re boycotting.

Oh but I really do need to do it. My legs get all twitchy at night if they haven’t been taken for a nice long walk and then I don’t sleep properly and then I become an asshole because I’m tired and then because I’m tired I won’t get off my butt and go for a walk.

Vicious cycle peeps.Vicious.

I have all the best intentions and in the summertime I walk an hour a day no problem. but in the winter this is what happens:

Me: We really need to exercise today. It’ll make us feel better.

Psyche: Yeah! Lets Do it! Today!

[8 hours later, after work]

Me: Okay it’s time to do that exercise we talked about.

Psyche: Oh hell no, you crazy?

Me: Come on, we promised!

Psyche: Not gonna happen. I’m already in my snuggie.

Me: You are? Oh look at that, we are. Damn, it’s cozy

Me: Oooh, is that “Tom and Katie” you just googled?

Psyche: mmmhmmm………

Me: Move over

Resistance is futile.

On another note, university is back in session. This semester I am doing a full course load (3 subjects) and two of them are statistics related. Ahahahaha. Basically what I’m trying to tell you is, things is gonna get a little hairy around here. If I snap at you, I apologise in advance. It’ll be fun! Have a great day!

I was a very serious, obsessive little creature and for no reason at all I developed this fear, out of thin air. Or maybe out of all those horror movies I was crazy about watching.

But the terror was very real. Every night the sun would start to go down and I would feel the doom begin to seep in. I would start to plan for the the night ahead. Put to bed at 8.30pm I would lie awake, stiff as a board, in tune to every creak in the walls, every crunch of the gravel outside my window. My bedroom was located at the back of the house and I was fanatical about getting up 10, 15 times a night to check that the back door, was in fact, locked.

I couldn’t tell my folks about this fear as the fear was undoubtedly completely unreasonable. For one thing, I lived in a quaint little township of less than 2,000 people. The milk was still delivered to the letterbox and everybody knew everybody elses name. The extent of crime in the area was limited to 12 year olds roof rocking their friends’ houses. Further, my parents were fairly no nonsense people who did not rise easily to the neurotics of children (Once, for example, I fell out of the top bunk bed and scared the shit out of myself. Winded and waddling into my parents bedroom to share my woes, my mother, without opening her eyes, responded ‘Well you walked in here alright didn’t you? Go back to bed).

Clearly, they were not going to be any help.

Miraculously, after a year or so of this personal nightmare the fear did abate and I have spent the majority of my adulthood in nonchalance about night, locked doors and being alone. I began to congratulate myself on the conquer – how I could stay alone in a dark, unlockable hut in Laos, or on a roadless mountain without power or water, or just simply housesit alone for anyone, anytime, any place. Thank god I wasn’t that scared little girl any longer.

But then I realised that wasn’t necessarily true.

The real truth was that I was just as scared as ever before, I just feared other things.

I fear failure, I fear commitment, I fear making mistakes, I fear aging, I fear love, I fear missing out.

I began to wonder about the fear of my 10 year old self and the fear I experience in adulthood. I wondered what the difference was or whether they originated from something similar.

I decided that in the end, I could narrow it down to one, simple thing.

It’s all fear of pain isn’t it? All these different types of fear? In childhood, pain is mostly limited to the physical – I feared how much it would hurt to have some wacko axe wielder do me in. But as an adult the fear of pain is more emotional. I fear I will not be able to handle the hurt of another heart broken, an ego shattered, a dream destroyed. It’s a fear of the pain that stops me from doing the things I want to do, of being the person I want to be. It hurts too much to fail – therefore protect yourself by not trying.

I have found that by identifying this, by simplifying it down to one thing, makes it all far easier to manage. I don’t have to think about the separate fears all so complicated that it becomes too hard to comprehend conquering them all. I just have to remember that it is just the one fear, manifesting itself in different ways. And then I can cultivate the knowledge that pain will not actually kill me. Pain is a natural and normal part of life’s cycle. Pain is the labour you go through before the birth of something more true.

So I’m going to take a leaf out of the book of my 10 year old self. Because if she can conquer a fear of pain, then I can give it a crack too.

One of the biggest political issues in Australia today is the question of the ‘illegal boat people’. This topic continues to occupy front page headlines week after week, month after month. It constitutes large chunks of the argument between our political parties. There is nothing like this issue to get people upset, rallied against the overpopulation of our country, rallied against the ‘obscene’ social security benefits they will receive, rallied against the ‘illegal immigrants’ taking our hard earned jobs, rallied against the terrorism surely to arise from people entering our country under such suspicious circumstances.

‘Illegal boat people’ really get folks hot under the collar around here.

The disturbing thing about the whole issue is that the issue does not exist. It’s a smoke screen, a little toy the public has been given to fight over to keep them distracted from caring about things that actually matter. It’s scary and oh so wrong. Because the people who are suffering because of this little game have already suffered enough. Which one of us is really the terrorist?

Before I get too carried away I would like to take a moment to break it down into the basic facts that have been forgotten or buried so that at least here, in this space of mine, it will be shown in black in white the difference between truth and fiction.

It is NOT ILLEGAL to seek asylum in Australia. End of story. We are a signatory to the Refugee Convention which allows persons fleeing persecution, war and violence to seek asylum with us regardless of how they get here. They are not ‘illegal boat people’ a term invented for maximum xenophobic effect; they are persons legally seeking asylum.

The newspapers (and Tony Abbott) will tell us that oh my god 6,879 people arrived by boat in 2010. 6,879 people!! That sounds like a lot. But this figure is never given any context. The number 6,879 means nothing on its own. If we’re talking about how many people showed up to your last BBQ then shit, yes this is a huge number of people. But if we’re talking about how many people showed up to the last cricket match at the MCG then it becomes, well, it becomes this:

Ie: nothing at all. Yet this number has been used to divide a nation and incite hatred toward the persecuted. All over a few seats at the MCG.

The reality is that asylum seekers make up just 2% of Australia’s overall annual immigration figures. 2 percent. There are no newspaper headlines about not having enough room/money/energy for our annual migrant population. There is no concern. Yet somehow we have changed the laws of logic and swallowed the new set, whole. Eg: If we do not have an overall immigration problem, and asylym seekers make up just 2 percent of that non-problem, then how did we end up with………….a problem?

We didn’t. We’ve been duped. And the already terrorised are the victims of it.

We are geographically far larger and far less populated than most countries in the world. Yet when it comes to protecting and sheltering people on our empty shores this is how we measure up against other industrialised nations:

Comparison of asylum seekers in industrialisedcountries in 2010:Australia……………………..8,250…………………………. 4.4%UK…………………………..22,090……………………….. 11.7%USA………………………….55,530……………………….. 29.4%France……………………….47,790……………………….. 25.3%Canada…………………….. 23,160………………………..12.3%Sweden……………………. 31,820………………………..16.9%And we wonder why the rest of the world looks at us like this:

7. Overall, Australia takes on just 0.03% of the world’s refugee population and are the only country in the world that has an offshore processing scheme or a detention centre. We are a hostile country to steer a boat towards, to do so means you are desperate. Pray that you are never that desperate.

I believe that we are actually good people, that just haven’t had access to the right information to encourage the good side of us. The general public is bombarded by misinformation. If we all knew the real facts, then politicians and the media would have less power to fear-monger us into making an issue out of nothing at the expense of the very vulnerable.

It’s Refugee Week this week. It’s time to debunk the myths where you find them and find out more information here, here or here. Spread the word.

I just decided this while sitting on said couch trying to think of something brilliant and witty to write in today’s post. The thing is though, that it’s Monday night and I have just had a rather large weekend that included great events like attending a brilliant friend’s film premiere at the Sydney Film Festival (fun!) as well as a big birthday party featuring a lot of jelly shots and karaoke.

I’m just gonna let you sit with that jelly shot sentence for a second. I know I had to.

Anyway, as you can now understand, I don’t have anywhere near the brain cell count to pull off brilliant and witty. So basically kids, if you’re looking for something to make sense today, you’ve come to wrong blog.

Why bother writing today at all then, you ask? Look savvy reader, that’s a good question, but I’m not up for answering questions today.

Back to the couch. A friend gave it to me and it’s late 60’s vintage in an aqua green. I love it. But it’s starting to look a little past its used by date. Faded in places, worn in others, lumpy on the top. I’m a little OCD about these sorts of imperfections. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to look at that worn patch before I start dreaming about it and end up having to get up at 3 in the morning to drag it outside where it can no longer infect my subconscious.

This is only a slight exaggeration.

I get obsessed. I can spend an hour adjusting the coffee table so that there’s the exact right amount of distance between the couch and the chair. And exactly centred.

I can’t handle it when things aren’t centred.

I wonder if I have a point today?

Ah yes, see the thing holding me back about getting a new couch is that it means I would have to own another thing. I have a problem with owning things. I’m like the opposite of a hoarder. The more things I own, the more anxious I feel. Owning stuff makes me feel tied down and committed. I always think ‘But if I buy a new couch, what will I do with it when I move to New York?’ and then ‘I’ll just have to sell it again and I’ll never make the money back. Let’s wait til we move to New York and then buy a new couch’.

It is important to note here (and will offer a small amount of insight into my personality) that I have no plan to move to New York. No plan to move anywhere. Hell, I don’t even have a plan to actually move off this couch anytime soon. However, it makes me anxious to think that I wouldn’t be able to do so at the drop of a hat.

I’m not kidding. You’re talking to a girl who wouldn’t buy herself a pair of knee high boots for years because they were too big of an item to fit into a backpack and therefore constituted commitment/tie me down fear.

I think this is the definition of a first world problem.

(I also think the problem is that I’m a bit of a tight ass).

Well, hey – at least I own boots now – I must be getting kind of a bit better.

But maybe not better enough for a new couch.

Anyway, I’m going to go on ahead and let you get on with your evening. I promise that next time you arrive here there will be more than a nonsense transmission. There’s an important week coming up and I gots things to say about it.

Hello folks. Hope you all had a lovely long weekend – unless you’re not from Australia in which case you probably just had a regular weekend. I have been MIA because I flew to the great Far North Queensland for a little wintersun action with a very good friend of mine. It went sort of like this:

Thurs 6.30pm – Plane lands in Cairns. Get off and notice it is hotter inside the airport than outside. Establish that the reason is because the air temperature has dropped below 30 degrees celsius, therefore Cairns people are cold, therefore they have turned the aircon off. Woohoo. This is my kind of winter.

Thurs 11.10pm – Finish second bottle of wine and begin to babble incoherently. Room begins to spin. Decide now would be a good time to go to bed

Fri 8.00am – Wake up and realise that too much wine on your first night was probably not the best idea you’ve ever had. Get dressed and head down to the dock for Green Island snorkelling excursion to the Great Barrier Reef!

Fri 9.15am – Ten minutes into boat ride establish that wine mixed with boat ride on open ocean definitely not the best idea you’ve ever had. Spend 45minutes on the back deck of boat breathing and making deals with self like ‘I promise to never drink wine again if we can make it off this boat without hurling over the edge’.

9.30am – Try not to listen to local lady tell you that you should never swim in anything in Cairns that doesn’t have chlorine in it.

9.35am – Try not to listen to local lady tell you that the crocs, sharks and jellyfish don’t scare her but then again, the seasnakes are kind of the pits.

9.37am – SEA SNAKES WTF???

Fri 10.00am – Hello Barrier Reef!! Try to not annoy everyone with very specific questions about sea snakes. How many sea snakes are there? Are they common? Have you ever seen one? Just so you know guys, I will shit my pants if a sea snake comes anywhere near me. Have I asked you yet if you have ever seen one?

Fri 10.15am – So did you say there were many sea snakes out here?

Fri 10.20am – Assured that there are very few snakes and that neither of my party have ever seen one out here.

Fri 11.00am – Get in water for some Barrier Reef Snorkelling Action! Hooray!!

It was a beautiful weekend that included horseback riding through the Daintree Rainforest and onto the beach. It included dinner at Port Douglas and long walks on the Esplanade. It included the best Mexican food I’ve ever had in Australia and long ribbons of deserted tropical beaches. But mostly it included catching up with one of my oldest friends – one that I’ve known since my days in Canada, one who was witness to my fake wedding, and one who by pure coincidence now lives in Australia. It was a bit like those worlds colliding that I’ve mentioned before. Who would’ve ever thought we’d see each other again, on the other side of the world, completely out of context, both living in the same (but different) country again by some bizarre twist of fate.

Let me just say that again. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, babies. Always have loved the babies. And cats.

Anyway, no matter how many times I meet a brand new baby (and there have been many times. I am a 32 year old woman, folks, I am surrounded by brand new babies), they never cease to completely floor me. It’s like a religious experience or something. I mean, you really want a miracle, just check out a miniature human being that just got made out of thin air and was living under water yesterday and is now sucking it’s sweet little, perfectly formed thumb, out in the daylight, like it ain’t no thing.

How did they get here?

And then I always look at the mother in amazement and say ‘dude, can you believe you made this??’, and then I look at the stomach from whence this baby just came and already it seems improbable, preposterous, ridiculous that this tiny little version of a real live human being was sitting in there just yesterday.

I mean, really? You grew in there? You came outta there?? Are you crazy??

Now don’t take all this waxing lyrical the wrong way – this does not necessarily mean I am clucky. You see, as much as I love babies, the jury has still been out on how I feel about children. You know, the kind that walk, talk, go to school and generally stick around for 20 years.

Not nuts about that idea. In fact I’ve always been somewhat mildly terrified by the walking, talking variety of child. They’re so demanding. Always needing to be entertained and fed and stuff. Parents, always say some variation of this theme:

‘It is THE hardest, most exhausting, challenging, difficult thing you will ever do. You will be tired, distraught, frustrated and at a loss. You will not shower or sleep or have proper adult conversations BUT, it is the most rewarding thing you could experience’.

And whenever I heard this I always thought:

‘Well that sounds risky’.

These anti-children thoughts were, however, challenged earlier this year when H and I took a trip to Uganda to do some volunteering. Volunteering with children was not on the agenda due to the sweaty, anxious mess they tend to make of me, but once we got there, circumstances dictated that volunteering with children was exactly what was gonna happen. 70 of them. Aged 5 to 15.

Cue sweaty anxious mess. I just dont know what to do with them. I’ve never liked children’s games (even when I was one), I don’t know what they want to talk about and I generally just have the patience of a gnat.

But one day, about a week into surviving the volunteering, I was squatting outside in the dirt watching them play hopscotch, soccer and elastics in their lunch hour. I was hot, exhausted, dirty and mildly annoyed. I had been yelling teacher-ly things all morning, I had been frustrated, distraught and at a loss. And as I sat there in this state, I was suddenly struck by an overwhelming thought:

I would do anything for these kids.

It was accompanied by an intense pain that seemed to come out of the sky and smack me square in the chest.

My first thought was that I had malaria.

But then I realised with unfathomable certainty that I had just experienced that elusive paradox that parents always bang on about. Despite all the crappy stuff, I was head over heels in love. And it didn’t make sense, but it didn’t make it less true.

Weird.

Anyway, I was thinking about all this when I was holding that brand new miracle of a baby girl yesterday, and I thought well, maybe I’ll have them, and maybe I won’t. But until I decide, at least I’ve got you to coo my heart out to.